


Take The Risk

by silversky087



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversky087/pseuds/silversky087
Summary: The only reason Albert DaSilva is still up on his feet is because of his best friend, Racetrack Higgins. Albert isn't surprised that he fell in love with the boy, and is ready to face heartache and the cruelties of love. What he doesn't realize is that everything was going to be alright at the end. He just had to take the risk.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva & Racetrack Higgins, Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Take The Risk

After his mother died, Albert DaSilva declined his only chance for an education to help his family. He exchanged his school books for newspapers and became a Newsie. The redhead was merely eleven, so he was appalled by New York City, which seemed to have more bad than good.

But then there was Antonio Higgens. He was dubbed Race because he would sell near the racetracks and made enough money to buy himself dinner and a shitload of cigars. The boy was orphaned at a young age so he knew everything about being a Newsie. If he hadn't guided Albert in the right direction, the ginger probably would have met a dead-end.

When Albert was fourteen, his Dad and brothers passed away due to a vehicle accident. Instead of returning home to a small apartment looking down at the streets of Manhattan, Albert had to begin bunking with his fellow Newsies.

Albert was wrecked. He refused to sell for a week. He laid in his new bed for a few days, starving himself and resisting sleep. During the midnight hours, Race would slip under the covers with Albert and hold him until he fell asleep. Race didn't know much about loss. He lost his parents before he even knew them. But he tried to understand for Albert, for his best friend. 

That week was hard for Race. He sold more newspapers so he could buy Albert dinner and help pay both of their rents. He didn't have enough money for cigars. It was arduous not having a way to de-stress, especially when there was a likelihood of Albert slipping away.

Meanwhile, Albert was staring at the ceiling and contemplating his own miserable life. Did it really have to be depressing, or was Albert just multiplying his own sadness? He was a bother, that was for sure. 

Poor Racetrack Higgins had to take care of him, as if he was a helpless child. Hell, his best friend had to sneak to his bunk in the middle of the night so Albert wouldn't choke on his tears. Whenever he whispered words of reassurance, Albert couldn't smell the fume from the cigars Race typically smoked throughout the day. Damnit, Race was dropping them to buy Albert soup every evening!

He needed to get out of his head. For his parents, for his brothers, for Race. For his own sake. Quit the sorrow and transform it into something else. Albert didn't know what, but he was going to attempt. He will become the strong boy his family wanted him to be. And he wouldn't give up, because Race needed him more than Albert needed himself. So it was settled: Albert was going to wake up and battle the real world.

The next day, Albert DaSilva rolled out of bed and faced the crowd.

———

Albert is finally sixteen. For once, he smiles when the radiant sun wakes him up. 

The strike bruised him badly and broke him apart, but together with the Newsies, he won. A few weeks ago, he'd be worrying about feeding himself dinner and having a place to sleep. Now, he's living a much more prosperous lifestyle. 

Race gallops over, clenching an unlit cigar between his teeth. "Before you put your hat on, take this." He throws a plastic comb at Albert. "Actually, I say you skip the hat. Ladies love ginger hair, especially when it looks pretty."

Albert doesn't really care about impressing girls. He already knew about his love for Race. It isn't even a big deal anymore, he can't control his heart.

No one can know, though. Boys aren't allowed to like boys romantically. If someone figures out his massive secret, he's done for. That's the thing—he wasn't even allowed to be with Race. No matter what. That hurts him in a million different ways. Who knew love could be so painful.

Race likes girls anyway, that's for sure. He flirts with them all the time—that's how he sells his papers.

Albert normally makes up a headline. It can't seem unbelievable, but it has to sound compelling. He doesn't mind lying. That's the thing keeping him going. If he lies, everyone will think he likes girls. If he lies, people will buy his newspapers. It's almost too easy.

Albert rolls his eyes. "I don't know how to comb my damn hair," he says, examining the tool. "My brother used to comb my hair, back when I was still going to school." He looks up, smiling sadly. Remembering is enjoyable, as long as he recalls the good moments. "I was the only ginger in my family, though."

Race ruffles Albert's hair. "Huh, it looks better messy. But don't wear the hat. Your hair looks good today." And then he's skipping away, probably to annoy Jack. Typical Race.

Albert couldn't help but grin at the praise. Race is always complimenting Albert, in a best friend sort of way, of course.

The redhead stands up, stretches his arms, and makes his way toward the door. A few boys told him to have a happy birthday, and that was Albert's plan. Sixteen was a big year. Everything would feel the same. He would still be a Newsie and he will still have Race and the other boys. But in two years, Albert could get a real job and rent an apartment. He was going to be an adult. And honestly, that thought was sort of scary.

Finch finds him outside. "Al, you're really skipping the hat?" The brunette was looking down at his slingshot. He always has it on him, ever since he got soaked in the alleyway by a couple of drunken men. The only reason he came out alive was because a couple of Bronx Newsies found him and helped him out.

"Yeah, Racetrack said I should." The two boys purchase their papers. It was his birthday, so Albert bought ten more than he normally does. He's older, so he should challenge himself.

Finch shakes his head before they part ways. "The things you do for that boy."

Albert's heart pounds as he strides to his selling spot. Was it obvious? Does everyone know about his love for Race? Was someone going to grab him from behind and lock him up? He couldn't help but look behind his own shoulder. Nothing. Just a few kids playing catch with a rubber ball.

He finally reaches the art museum. Him and Race choose to sell there because the venue attracts a lot of people. Enough girls for Race to flirt with and enough foolish old folks for Albert to trick with his mythical headlines. The place is perfect. 

Race was already here, flirting with some tall girl with flawless coils. They almost look as lovely as Race's curls. God, Albert shouldn't be having these thoughts!

"Orphan boy uses voodoo magic to bring back his dead sister!" Albert yells, waving the newspaper in the air. He needs to distract himself. Why not with an improbable headline?

After Albert sold a paper to an old gentleman who seemed a bit insane, Race came over. "I hate flirting," he now says, rubbing at the top of his hand. Was that lipstick on his skin? 

"Racer, you actually let a girl kiss you?" Albert asks, astonished. 

"Whatever earns me the bucks, Albie."

Man, Albert loves that nickname. So personal. So special. It was intimate, only Race uses it. And Albert hopes it stays like that, because it makes his chest flutter in unusual ways.

"Did you know that an orphan boy used voodoo witchcraft to bring back his deceased sister?" Albert inquires.

Race rolls his blue eyes. They're the color of the sky and the ocean mixed. "Damn, Albert, that's really believable. No wonder you've sold four papers."

"The only reason you sold more than me is because you let all those girls hang off you," Albert retorts.

"No, no, no. You don't need physical contact. That girl was just desperate." He takes a step closer and plasters a prize-winning grin on his face. "Hiya, sweetheart. Would the pretty redhead like to buy a paper from me?"

"Umm." His face turns the same shade as his hair. Definitely, yes. He'd buy a paper. 

Race steps back and runs a hand through his curls. Are his cheeks tinted with pink? "And that's how I do it. Everytime. It gets boring. Although, you're the first redhead I've flirted with all week."

Albert laughs, saying, "My kind is disappearing." Please don't notice the blush, Race, please don't notice the blush...

Race doesn't notice. He doesn't even say anything. He just skips away to a new set of girls, smiling his signature smile. The one that attracts the ladies. Well, and Albert.

———

Twilight commenced, but Albert isn't sleeping. His stomach is somewhat full. Him and Race had shared a sandwich for dinner. Speaking of Higgins, he isn't home, which scares Albert shitless. New York is dangerous at night. Race could have gotten soaked. Or he could be dead, laying in an alleyway with blood streaming down his throat. Or—

Race sneaks into the room, closing the wooden door behind him. He dodges bunks full of sleeping boys, not even making a sound. Instead of climbing up the ladder to his own bed, Race slips under the covers with Albert.

Race has this dopey grin on his face, but as soon as he gazes at Albert, he covers the smile with his hand. A tear plunges his face. "Albie." He sucks in a breath. "You're gonna hate me."

The ginger sits up and leans against the bedframe. "Hey, hey. I could never hate you. What happened?" Albert searches those striking blue eyes, trying to prove his words with a sincere look.

Race perches beside him, staring straight ahead. "I have a thing. With Spot Conlon."

A thing?

"I dunno," Race continues, tugging at his hair. "I went to Brooklyn, went to his private room. We kissed some. It—it felt nice. I think we're gonna keep doing that." He turns to shake Albert's shoulders. "You can't tell anyone!"

Woah, woah, woah! Antonio Higgins likes boys! Racetrack, the guy who flirts with girls to sell his papers, likes boys! Albert has a chance.

But the King of Brooklyn ruined everything.

Albert takes one of Race's hands. "Racer, it's okay. I won't say anything." He hates seeing his best friend sob. Albert is usually the one with salty tears in his eyes. Right now, he wanted to cry happy and sad tears at the same time. Happy, because Race likes boys! Sad, because he's making out with Spot Conlon! Thankfully, Albert doesn't cry at all.

Race lets out this agonizing whimper. Albert was going to be honest—he sounded like a dying cat. "Race," the redhead whispers, pulling him in for a hug. The snores of the other Newsies blend in with his words. "You're still my best friend. You can love who you want. I'm not gonna look at you any differently."

"Seriously?" Race slumps against Albert's bare chest, relieved. 

Albert kisses the top of Race's head without thinking much of it. His curls smell like sweat and rainwater. "Yes," he says, then practically pushes Race off the bunk. "But go get some sleep, I'm sure your make-out session was exhausting."

Race smirks and crawls up the ladder. 

Albert slides down to rest his head on the slim pillow, laying on his back and closing his hazel eyes. His shoulder is wet from Race's tears. He dries his skin with the plaid quilt.

Antonio Higgins and Spot Conlon making out smack in the middle of Brooklyn. Of course, Race had to choose Spot instead of him. Albert is just some skimpy redhead who follows Racetrack like a lost puppy. Spot is like royalty. He's perilous and people listen to him. What else would Race want?

Well, obviously not Albert.

On the first night of his sixteenth year, Albert DaSilva cried himself to sleep.

———

Every night, Race would show up at the lodging house after midnight. Every night, he'd wake Albert up and tell him of his adventures with the notorious Spot Conlon. Every night, Albert would fall asleep with a few tears caked on his skin. Every night, Albert yearned to be good enough for Race.

Now it was morning, and Albert was selling by himself. Race skipped the day and went off to find Spot in Brooklyn. Racetrack and Conlon keep taking bigger risks, jeopardizing themselves more and more every day. 

Like yesterday. Race told Albert that he and Spot kissed in an alleyway. In an alleyway! In broad daylight. "It's more fun when it's dangerous," Race had said with a playful smirk hanging on his lips. 

Albert had just shaken his head and ordered Race to bed. That night he wondered why Higgins wouldn't seize a chance with him.

———

After exactly three months of seeing Spot, everything ceased. Spot broke things off, telling Race that the risk wasn't worth it. That Race wasn't worth it.

Now, it's Race's turn to cry. He's started sleeping on the bottom bunk with Albert because leaving him alone lead to dangerous thoughts. Luckily, none of the other boys thought much of it. 

Albert had created a story to cover for Race. After the strike, Race and Spot became the bestest of best friends (which hurt Albert because everyone figured that he was Racetrack's right-hand man). Three months into their friendship, Spot decided to end it for an insignificant reason. 

Thankfully, the Manhattan Newsies are foolish enough to believe it. They just reckon that Race was all upset because he got turned down by the King of Brooklyn. And technically, he did. 

At the moment, Race is sobbing and Albert is resting there next to him, helpless. It has been two days since the break-up. All Higgins has done is cry.

The ginger prays that his best friend doesn't wake up the other boys. They need their sleep. The night is frigid so Albert stole a bedspread off an empty bunk and covered Race's trembling body with the cotton.

Albert allows Race to lay his head on his chest. It's weird how Higgins has randomly started craving affection, but Albert doesn't mind one bit. He wraps his arm around Race's shoulders and begins talking: "My oldest brother wanted to be a chef at this old Irish Pub that's been around for almost a century. He was great at cooking. You could give him three ingredients and he could make a considerable meal."

"I don't know much about my parents," Race mutters softly. "They immigrated here from Italy and basically disappeared. I've been a Newsie my entire life."

Albert and Race never talk about their past. Albert's history brings back painful memories of his family, but he was willing to suffer for Race.

"That's crazy," Albert subconsciously says. He's too busy thinking about how his brother never got a chance to grow up. How he never got a chance to follow his dreams.

Albert had to take a chance. He had to take a chance on Race before it was too late.

———

A few months passed. Albert is watching Race smoke. A cold breeze sweeps through the ginger's hair and leaves goosebumps forming on his skin.

They're sitting on the rooftop. Their shoes are dangling off the edge, pointing to the empty streets of New York City. Albert has never seen the city so deserted. Well, it is almost three in the morning, so he guesses he shouldn't be that shocked. 

Breathing in the smoke hurts the inside of his nose. "Are ya ever gonna quit?" he asks Race, trying to ignore the fumes.

Race shrugs. "Nah. Smoking has become a part of me."

Albert has heard horror stories about lung cancer and the ways tobacco can mess up your body. "Okay..." he trails off, knowing that saying nothing is for the best.

Race turns to look at Albert, peering at his face. "You're eyes look cool when the moon reflects off them," he says, smiling. "Gives them little golden flecks."

Albert blushes.

"Look, Albie, I haven't gotten the chance to thank ya. Spot messed me up bad and I didn't really have the will to live for a while. But you—you kinda pulled me from the darkness, ya know. Gave me a will to live."

This was Albert's chance, it was his chance! Go big or go home.

He grabs Race's face and kisses him straight on the lips. Albert prays this action proves to Antonio that he loves him. That he really, really loves him. That he will take care of him. And hold him while he cries. And follow him to the end of the earth. This kiss will prove that Albert will risk his life for Race.

Albert finally pulls away. The cigar tumbles out of Race's hand and crashes on the street below. His best friend must've accidentally dropped it. Wait. Are they still best friends? Or are they something more? Or did Albert just ruin their entire friendship? 

"I'm sorry," Albert mutters, looking down.

Race gently cups his cheek, forcing him to lift his head. "Albie, I've been wanting to do that for a while." And they kiss again. It wasn't perfect or magical. It was real and genuine. It was Race and Albert, kissing on a ledge hanging over New York. The city that brought them together. That's what makes it special.

Race pulls him up on his feet and they begin waltzing on the rooftop. Race has always loved dancing. A year or so ago, he told Albert that he dreamed of slow dancing with a girl. The girl turned out to be a boy. And that boy turned out to be Albert.

"I have an idea," Race says. His breath is so close to Albert's ear. The redhead's chest flutters. There are definitely butterflies in his stomach, just waiting to be released. "I have one year until I'm eighteen, you just have a little more than that. After that, we run off so we can be ourselves."

"You sound like Jack. With all his Santa Fe shit."

"Then we go to Santa Fe. So we can love each other without a worry in the world."

Race loves him. 

"Okay." Albert is too caught up in the moment to say anything important.

"Ya know, you're already sort of like my Santa Fe," states Race. He spins Albert around. "I come to you when I need to escape. Knowing you're here keeps me sane."

Albert kisses Race on the cheek. "You've always been my Santa Fe, ever since you helped me through the deaths of my family members."

"I guess we mean a lot to each other, huh?" Race is pointing out the obvious. 

Another obvious: Race was worth the wait.

Albert and Race didn't stop dancing until the sun started rising.

**Author's Note:**

> This is is the first fanfic I’ve ever posted! Thank you for reading!


End file.
